


Prison Dreams

by windsroad



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Stream (Critical Role)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 21:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13040100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsroad/pseuds/windsroad
Summary: Percival did a lot of dreaming in that prison. He wonders what he could have done to deserve such a good one.





	Prison Dreams

Percival did a lot of dreaming in that prison.

He saw himself in ten, twenty years. He was ruthless, his campaign never ending. There was always someone new to kill, to hurt. Percival thought lasting so long in such a form seemed ambitious—surely such a life would burn bright and hot and end far sooner than that. It was a picture of himself he barely recognized, but he thought that was all right; it was the price he had to pay for revenge.

Revenge. That was was he was supposed to be doing. The dream changed; the smoke spoke to him again.

It urged him on, told him this was the path he needed to follow. It insisted he stand, get up, make his way out of that prison and continue his crusade, rasping _Revenge! Revenge!_

Percival tried, but he couldn’t get up. The effort hurt; it took what energy he had left, and Percival fell into a deeper sleep.

 

He was having a more ordinary dream when they found him.

It was a normal day. Percival sat at his workbench at home, constructing a small clockwork dragon that would move and chatter when the mechanism was wound with a key. Maybe Cassandra would like it. Or was she too old for that now?

It was just starting to come together when Vesper ran in, panicked.

_Brother, come help, look what someone’s done to him, he’s hurt,_ she said. Her voice seemed so distant, so strange. But Percival couldn’t look up from his work.

“Was it Oliver?” Percival tried to ask. “Has he done something foolhardy again and hurt himself?” But he hardly got any of the words out. He hurt all over.

_One of you must be able to help,_ the voice said again. But it wasn’t his sister, Percival thought.

The dragon before him began to twist and mutate. It started moving in ways the mechanism shouldn’t have allowed, writhing and squirming and turning hot in his fingertips. Percival wrenched his eyes from it in horror, struggled to get them open.

There was a dark-haired woman standing over him. She was a vision. He couldn’t see clearly—her face was silhouetted by the light behind her—but she seemed to him the most beautiful figure he had ever seen. She gingerly moved to lift his body from the wall where he lay, searching for some uninjured inch of flesh to get purchase on.

Her hands were soft, her movements gentle. It had been too long since anyone had treated him so kindly. Percival dimly wondered what corner of his mind could have created this for him, now, at the end. His invention was so rarely used for beauty.

“Fuck,” said another voice, a man’s voice. “What the hell happened?”

Percival struggled to sit up under his own power. It hurt. The woman did not relinquish her support. He opened his eyes further and cast them about the cell.

The woman was with a man who looked very much similar to her—both half-elves, it seemed. A motley crew filed in behind them, including one large bear, like the plucky band from an adventure novel.

“What is—what is this?” Percival mumbled.

“We’ve got you, darling, we’ve got you,” said the woman.

One of them cast some kind of magic. He came to himself, roused enough to clear his head and wonder where his glasses were, just as the bear lumbered over and licked his face. It hurt, but it was warm and animal-scented and shockingly real.

“Trinket!” scolded the woman. “What did we say about kissing?”

The bear moaned in response.

“It’s—it’s quite alright,” Percival responded. He edged himself up and leaned against the bear’s massive weight. It was warm, so warm.

“I’m not sure what the fuck is going on here,” said the man. “But you’ll be okay now.”

“I’m Vex, darling. That is my brother, Vax, and you’ve met Trinket now,” said the woman. She motioned to the rest of her group. “These are Scanlan, Pike, Grog, Keyleth, and Tiberius.”

Percival blinked hard, trying to take it all in.

“You said something earlier,” Vex said. “Oliver? Is that your name?”

He shook his head and bent to pick up his mangled glasses. If this was a dying dream, it was better than he deserved, and he would ride it out as long as he could.

“I’m… Percival,” he said finally, fitting the glasses on his face. “You can call me Percy.”


End file.
